


Possibilities As Loud As Heartbeats

by MaskoftheRay



Series: Stars Innumerable and Hearts Incandescent [2]
Category: Injustice: Gods Among Us
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, At least for a little bit, Bittersweet, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce and Clark are best friends, Dark Superman, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Bruce Wayne, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heartbeats, Injustice: Gods Among Us spoilers, Minor Injuries, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Bruce Wayne, Sad with a Happy(ish) Ending, TW: slight suicidal ideation, What-If, mentioned canon character death, or at least maybe they can be again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 20:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: What if, early on, Bruce had been determined to bring Kal El back... no matter the potential personal cost.





	Possibilities As Loud As Heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

> “He has the power to deliver the entire human race, and if I believe there’s even a 1% chance that he is redeemable, I have to take it as an absolute certainty. And I have to save him.”  
—Bruce Wayne
> 
> This is another one-shot. Not connected to the other works in the series. Set about a year after Lois’ death, Metropolis’ destruction... and also after Dick Grayson’s accidental killing. Things have gotten serious, but not-yet completely irredeemable. 
> 
> Or, an alternate ending to the IJ AU.

“**Bruce**! Please don’t do this.”

He grimaced. _No one was supposed to find him. He had wanted to sneak out of the bunker without fuss. He’d had a **plan**_. “It will work.” _Or it wouldn’t. But then, at least, it’d all be over_.

“It’s _not_ going to work, don’t you realize—” His glare stopped Selina in her verbal tracks. They were standing in the bunker’s entryway. Overhead, the solitary fluorescent light flickered. In the silence, its buzz echoed that in Bruce’s head. His mind had been buzzing, and flickering, a lot lately. Selina took advantage of his momentary distraction, and slunk forward. Bruce tensed warily. _She was trying to stop him_.

Although Bruce far outweighed Catwoman, and had more martial arts training, she was quicker. And, if determined enough, it was possible that she could prevent him from leaving. Bruce could not allow this to happen. If she stopped him, the others would _watch _him— think he was suicidal. If that happened, Bruce wouldn’t get another chance to slip away for months— possibly years. Possibly _ever_. Then he couldn’t fulfill his silent promise to his dead son: that he’d make this all _stop_.

It had to _stop_. The world had become— it was senseless. And only getting worse. His family was nothing more than fragments. Damian had— Dick was… He had to stop <strike>Clark</strike> Kal before he went too far. There was still a chance of doing just that, if he were lucky. But there was also a chance (a not insignificant one) that he would **_die_**.

The only way this could work was if he could talk to Clark. The only way that would happen was if Superman didn’t see him as a threat. The only way that could happen was— “If you go out there without armor, Batman, you will _die_. Do you understand? Kal El will **murder **you,” Selina said slowly. As if she were talking to a _child._

Bruce sighed, rubbed quickly at the tension around his eyes. “I know that— that there’s a… good chance of that happening. But I have to _try_, Selina.” He fixed her with a pleading stare. “Don’t make me hurt you, Catwoman. Step aside. _Please_.” There was another beat of fraught silence. Many unsaid sentiments were exchanged through their gazes. Finally, Catwoman sighed.

She stepped aside, just enough for Bruce to elbow past her. “Fine. _Fine_, you idiotic bastard. **Go**.”

As Bruce walked around her, he hesitated for a second. But no. There was no time. He had to hurry before someone else came along, and helped Selina stop him. Bruce took a shuddering breath and unlocked the bunker door. He stepped out into the blinding sunlight for the first time in almost two months. _This had to stop_.

He drove.

He drove until the bunker was nothing more than a speck of dust in the desert, a solitary star in the blinding brilliance of the universe.

He drove until he reached Gotham, and had made the familiar turn onto the manor’s drive. Bruce’s breath quickened, and his eyes burned. Memories came upon him, and Bruce figured it was a good thing that nobody else was here. That Gotham, the manor, his _home_, was deserted. Bruce parked the car, got out, and walked across the yellowing, overgrown grass. He bypassed the building itself— there was _nothing _there for him, not since the Regime had searched it— and around to the back. He kept walking. He walked until he was by the willow tree, and the three graves there: Thomas Wayne’s, Martha Wayne’s, and Dick Grayson’s. A small breeze blew, and Bruce felt safe enough to exhale a sigh; the wind would surely disguise the sound.

He rested a hand on the grave of his eldest son— not yet even six months old— feeling a terrible burning in his gut, and mounting pressure in his lungs. If only it were safe to scream, Bruce would. He _had_, in the bunker. He had screamed so loud he’d been mute for a week. His eyes had been red for longer. His knuckles had only just recovered, and he’d have new scars across them. It was only proper that his outside bear some of the ugliness that he felt within. Bruce gave the graves one last look. Despite himself, he was nervous.

_But he_ _had to stop this_.

Bruce ambled over to the willow tree and sunk into a cross-legged seat at its base. He wasn’t wearing the suit. Did not even have a single batarang on him. No grapple, knife, or even smoke pellet. No kryptonite or any magic talismans, either. Nothing to defend himself with except his _words_. This was it. Bruce unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and turned off the dampening device. _He _would be able to hear Bruce’s heartbeat now.

Just as his fingers had finished rebuttoning the last button, Superman arrived.

<strike>Clark</strike> Kal was terrible to behold. His suit these days was more armor than uniform, and distinctly militaristic. Everything about him seemed harder, more steel-cut. Even his eyes. Bruce looked at him, calmly, and watched disinterestedly as Kal’s eyes shifted, and started to almost-glow— he was x-raying Bruce. After his eyes shifted back to normal, a brief, fleeting look of absolute confusion passed over his face, before that hard, cruel mask smoothed over his features.

Bruce exhaled. _What’s done is done_. Kal didn’t move, and neither did Bruce. He waited. Finally, Superman must’ve grown impatient. He stalked forward— in a supposed-to-be intimidating manner— until Bruce was forced to look up at him. Calmly, he observed how the other man’s eyes now had a distinctly _red _tint to them. He remained silent. His words would be his armor.

After a few more minutes of silence, Superman sighed, looking almost like himself. He sat in front of Bruce. “What’s your— how do— _why _are you here, Bruce?” Kal El growled awkwardly.

Bruce allowed his gaze to drift past his former friend, and to rove over the graves, the manor’s ruins, then the expansive yard around them. He uncrossed his legs, and leaned back against the tree. Bruce could sense Superman fidgeting. He frowned, and looked at his enemy. Kal, with a mixture of fury and… and _something else_, stared back.

“I’m tired, Clark,” Bruce said slowly. Superman flinched at the name, but didn’t incinerate him for using it. Didn’t even reprimand Bruce. Perhaps that was because he was too busy looking smug.

“Are you _surrendering_, Batman?” he asked. Bruce was sickened at the dark glee that infected Superman’s voice. It suddenly felt a lot more difficult to breathe. Bruce blinked away the watery feeling in his eyes. Then he brought a hand up, and scrubbed his face. _Was he surrendering? No. Just… making a last, desperate bargain. And hoping, perhaps futilely, that there was enough of his friend left to hear it. _

“No, Clark. I… I just want _to talk_ to you.” Bruce took a shuddery breath, and barely suppressed the bitter emotion from escaping. His heart lurched painfully in his chest, and Bruce swallowed. For a moment, the Kryptonian looked concerned. Bruce forced himself to continue. “I’m _tired_, Clark. So, so tired of- of all of _this_. It has to stop. You realize that, don’t you? We… we can’t keep fighting each other anymore. People are **dying**, and… and this world you’re building. It isn’t right. I know what temptations you’re facing, because I’ve faced them too. But this has to stop. There has to be another way. We can still fix the world without you controlling it all, Clark.”

Superman stumbled to his feet, and in an instant, Bruce was being held against the tree by one of his hands. He gasped at the uncomfortable pressure on his throat, and the long-held-back tears finally escaped. Some of them landed on Kal’s hand. Looking disgusted, he dropped Bruce, who fell to the ground, and lay on his side, gasping. After he’d recovered, he turned so he was lying flat on his back, and looked up. Kal was sneering down at him.

“Get up,” he hissed.

“No,” Bruce murmured. He took a moment to look at the sky. It was a beautiful day. “I won’t fight you any longer. _Please_, Clark. Don’t do this. You don’t have to. It’s okay. We can still go back to the way things were. We can save the world. Together.” Bruce watched his ex-best friend’s face. Superman’s features turned stormy, and his eyes red. Bruce looked away, heartbeat still steady and unmoved. He heard a sharp intake of air from Kal.

Suddenly, Bruce was lifted by the collar of his shirt. Superman held him up effortlessly, and his eyes simmered brighter than before. Bruce sighed disappointedly. After his non-reaction, the red heat faded. Superman set him down, frowning. Bruce stood there, looking at him dispassionately. Kal jerked Bruce forward by his collar, and then held Bruce’s head between his hands, as if to threaten him. Or to make him see sense. “What is _wrong _with you! Are you suicidal?” he demanded.

Bruce laughed. He laughed until Kal had moved away, and held him at arm’s length. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe, and he had to sit down. He laughed until tears ran from the corners of his eyes. He laughed until he was shaking, until he didn’t know why he was laughing. Superman took a threatening step forward. Bruce stopped laughing. Kal loomed over him, looking confused, and wary. “I don’t know,” Bruce answered finally. “Maybe I am.” Kal followed Bruce’s gaze to the three headstones. To _Dick’s _headstone. Superman frowned.

As Bruce stood, he dusted off his pants. He walked slowly over to Superman, who let him, with an aloofly amused expression on his face. But the act was undercut by the way his hand were clenched into tight fists. Bruce stopped when he and Kal were toe to toe. He looked down, and slowly reached for Superman’s hand. Curious, Kal let him; they both knew that there was no way for Batman to attack him.

Bruce placed Superman’s captured hand on his chest— directly over his heart. He said nothing. Just held Superman’s hand over his heart, and let him feel its steady, rhythmic beating through their connection. In that moment, something in Kal softened, just fractionally. But it was enough.

Bruce blinked, then focused an intense, earnest look on Superman. “Come back, Clark,” he murmured. Superman, frowning, went to withdraw his hand. Bruce clutched it— if Kal wanted it back, he’d have to mutilate his friend— and kept it pressed tightly over his chest, so his beating heart was inescapable. “It’s not too late, Superman. We can fix things. Join me.”

Superman sneered, suddenly furious at Bruce’s presumption. “Or what, Bruce? How _exactly_ do you think you can get me to do that? You have nothing to fight me with here. **Nothing**. Absolutely noth—” he realized, at that moment, what Bruce’s plan was. Bruce, at his abrupt silence, smiled icily. He’d seen the Kryptonian’s sudden understanding.

Despite himself, Superman felt cold, almost numb.

“Or I die,” Bruce answered quietly. He gave the other man an intent look. “You’ll kill me. I… I _can’t _live in this world anymore, Kal. I don’t want to fight you. What you’re doing, it isn’t right. But I don’t have the strength to stop you. I can’t, not after—” his gaze darted to the three graves. He swallowed. Then his icy blue gaze met Superman’s rapt one. “Kill me, or work with me. It’s your choice. I only ask that you bury me here, if nothing else.”

At this, Superman stiffened. But he recovered quickly. “Fine. I… I can do that.” Bruce’s hands, both of which had been holding him in place, dropped. His shoulders sagged, and he looked small, and profoundly sad, in that moment.

“Very well,” he said, softly. “I… fine. If that’s how it’s going to be.”

Frowning sternly, Superman strode forward. He pulled his fist back slowly. Bruce closed his eyes. His heartbeat was still steady— and loud. Loud and steady, **_Bruce_**. That had always been him: stubborn, and determined, and steady. Now it was loud enough to drown out the world. He had been searching for this heartbeat for a year, ever since Batman had _betrayed _him.

But now, Bruce was here. His eyes were closed, but he stood still. And his heart beat on. Futilely, it beat on. _Had Bruce really thought that his petty words, his pleas, could persuade Superman? Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. _That familiar sound. One he had memorized long ago, like he had memorized—

Bruce’s heart was still beating. Even after Metropolis. Even after Dick’s death. Even after coming here, willing to _die_. Stubbornly, it kept beating. But Kal had to kill him, he _had _to. So Bruce couldn’t fight him anymore. So he could make the world safer. So Lois’s death— _Lois_. She’d been the one to suggest that they make Bruce the godfather. “Who could be safer than _Batman_?” she’d asked him teasingly. But that didn’t matter now.

_Tha-thumptha-thumptha-thumptha-__thump_.

Resolutely, Superman pulled back his fist… a sob escaped him. _Lois_.

Bruce, hesitantly, opened his eyes. They rested softly upon him. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. _He **couldn’t**_. “I... I’m _sorry_,” he whispered. “I am so sorry.” _Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, **sorry**._ He dropped his fist. Bruce let out a shaky, relieved breath, and for the first time, Clark heard Batman’s heart race. _He must’ve been so scared_. _So scared, standing there, waiting to die. _

Bruce dropped drunklike to the ground, hands shaking from the adrenaline flooding his system. Clark could smell it— and the cortisol— coursing through his veins. Guilt constricted his chest. He kneeled in front of Bruce, and studied his face silently, worriedly. _God, he’d almost… his **best friend**. Clark had—_ _Bruce nearly— _he suddenly smelled saltwater.

Bruce was silently weeping.

After a while, he finally noticed Clark’s gaze on him. Bruce sucked in a steadying breath. A few tears still dripped down his face. He blinked away the last of them, and took another deep breath. Then, repeating his earlier action, Bruce lifted the Kryptonian’s hand and placed it on his chest.

Clark focused on the feeling and sound of his friend’s heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> I adapted the quote in the beginning note from BvS. You can find the actual quote from it/other movies [here](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Quotes/BatmanVSupermanDawnOfJustice).


End file.
